


never let go

by nise_kazura



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-TWOTL, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:40:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21800317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nise_kazura/pseuds/nise_kazura
Summary: He has faith in their bond, in the way they’ve carved each other into broken puzzle pieces that fit in between each other’s splinters and cracks. What he doesn’t have faith in is everything else. In the world, in the laws of physics. In God. Gravity is an enemy that may turn against them at any moment, in comparison to Will’s love.He holds Will close to him, the firm muscle and flesh of him that gives beneath his fingertips, and dares them all to try to take Will away from him.Hannibal loses his grip on Will during the fall. He deals with separation anxiety in the aftermath.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 285
Collections: 2019 Eat The Rude Secret Santa, Wendigo & Stag





	never let go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MythicalTzu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MythicalTzu/gifts).



> For the Eat the Rude 2019 Secret Santa Holiday Exchange! My giftee is Tzu!
> 
> the prompt given to me was:  
> "A fic where Hannibal is needy/clingy (as much as his character allows) and Will indulges him. Either AU or future-fic"
> 
> i uh, dunno if this was what you had in mind but hopefully it holds up!

Hannibal breathes in the salt of him, suckles at the warm skin over his pulse. He feels each of Will’s breaths, his arms a cage that expands and deflates in time with them, keeping the rhythm of their bodies the same. Will lets out a sleepy grumble before twisting in his hold. Hannibal fancies he can feel the way Will's tendons stretch and relax, the way his joints move, an echo of Hannibal’s own body.

They are conjoined. They are one.

His arms tighten around Will, crushing him to him. Will lets out a huff, forehead crinkling in consternation as his cheek is squished against Hannibal’s chest, his hands trapped between them.

“Hannibal,” he complains, voice garbled.

“Yes, darling?”

Will rolls his eyes.

“Hannibal, c’mon. I’m not going anywhere. You know that.”

But he doesn’t try to move away. He stays there, cocooned in Hannibal. As though Hannibal could unzip his flesh and wrap Will in it, tuck him under his heart where he belongs. Where he can always find him.

Hannibal doesn’t say that he  _ doesn’t _ know that. Oh, he believes what Will says. Neither of them could survive without the other, now, and Will knows it just as well as he. He has faith in their bond, in the way they’ve carved each other into broken puzzle pieces that fit in between each other’s splinters and cracks.

What he doesn’t have faith in is everything else. In the world, in the laws of physics. In God. Gravity is an enemy that may turn against them at any moment, in comparison to Will’s love.

He holds Will close to him, the firm muscle and flesh of him that gives beneath his fingertips, and dares them all to try to take Will away from him.

* * *

They plummet. The world rushes past them, a blur of wind and darkness. The shock of it dissipates, blown away by the air that buffets them. Will is inevitable, Hannibal finds. Unpredictable, and inevitable. There was no avoiding this outcome, and he realizes with a sense of pervasive calm that he doesn’t quite mind. What could be better than this—meeting his end, facing death head-on, with his love in his arms? If he had to choose an end, this is just as good as any other. As long as Will is there, with him.

“It’s beautiful,” Will had said. Hannibal agrees. As the water rushes towards them, he thinks,  _ at last. We are together. _

* * *

Hannibal startles awake with a gasp, body rigid and arms aloft. Will shushes him, and clicks on the low lamplight. Hannibal blinks away the panic clouding his eyes and turns to look at him, drinking him in. The fine bones of his face, the deep set of his eyes, the way his ears stick out just a little.

Will rubs at his eyes, yawns. He hasn’t slept well, either. Never did. He especially isn’t used to having another warm body next to him—even in sleep, he prefers his space, constriction makes the nightmares worse, the weight on his limbs transferring over to his dreams.

But he scoots closer, anyway.

“S’okay,” he murmurs in the same tone he uses to gentle his dogs. “S’okay, so go back to sleep.”

Hannibal nods, closing his eyes. The lights click out.

He’d never been afraid of the dark, before, and in a way, he still isn’t. But he finds that as he waits for his eyes to adjust, his heart pounds faster, his hands grow clammy.

He knows Will is right there. Right by him. He can feel the heat from his body warming him, if he listens closely he can hear the sound of his breathing. But it’s not enough. It’s not enough. The fear still bubbles over, the irrational belief that Will is going to disappear and will be ripped from his arms again, immutable to the point where the walls of his mind palace shake, an earthquake ringing through the halls where they reside. He tries to calm his breathing, slow the inhales and exhales so as to trick his body into a state of relaxation from which sleep might be possible, but the panic buzzes in his ears incessantly, and it won’t go away.

And then Will’s hand closes around his.

The single point of contact grounds him, and the stiff unease is leeched from him in ebbing waves, until he is sinking into the sheets.

Will.

“I’m here,” Will says, squeezing back.

* * *

He can’t hear anything above the roar of the wind. He thinks he might be crying out Will’s name, but he can’t be sure. A torrential gust whistles past, and suddenly his arms are empty, flailing, his hands grasping empty air.

He let go.

Just for a split second, how could he have—

It barely lasts a second longer.

Just a second.

Just one second where Will is falling, he is falling, but they are no longer  _ together,  _ no longer touching. Will was ripped from his arms by the unforgiving world and he thinks, no, not even after everything I’ve done do I deserve this. Not after everything—they cannot be apart, even for a second. For what may be their last. Not for this. He can’t articulate the blind terror that the emptiness in his arms gives him, the gut-wrenching misery that overtakes him at the moment they lose contact, the moment Will becomes out of his reach. The darkness seems to swallow Will in one gulp, and Hannibal wants to scream,  _ give him back. _

* * *

During the day, Hannibal is careful about it. He counts the seconds between Will leaving the room and coming back, and if it’s too long, he’ll find a reason to get up and follow. They circle each other like this, never too far apart, moving through each other’s negative space.

Will notices, of course. Hannibal knows he knows. But they keep up this dance, this act and react, tug and pull.

“I’m going out for a run,” Will says, and then pauses. “Wanna come?”

Logically speaking, it isn’t a good idea for them to be seen together. They’re more recognizable together than they are apart. Their names and faces are linked together in the media, and the FBI knows that where one is, the other is quick to follow. Hannibal should say no. He doesn’t particularly like going out at this time, either, when the sun is high overhead. He prefers walks in the early morning or nearing sunset. But Will likes the sun, likes the warmth, likes the animal pleasure of sweat and squinting eyes.

Hannibal should say no. He can say no. But they both know that if he does, he’ll be restless the entire time Will is gone, that he can’t bear to have Will out of his sight.

“Give me a moment to change my clothing,” he says, and Will nods.

“I’ll be right here,” he says.

* * *

When he drags his broken body to shore, he wonders if it’s even worth it. The morning sun is just beginning to peak over the horizon, the white crests on the waves turning golden in the light. It’s beautiful, and devastating.

Will could be anywhere, now.

Will could be dead.

Will could have sunk to the bottom of the ocean, and no one would know better, least of Hannibal.

Because he let go. How could he have let go?

* * *

Hannibal envelopes Will in his arms, crowding him against the sink. Tucking his face into Will’s neck, he plasters himself against him so that they can’t tell where one begins and one ends. Will sighs, and carefully places the dish he was washing back into the sink, leaning back into Hannibal and tilting his head to give him better access.

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” he says. “Not even my dogs can get away with this kind of behavior.”

“You like me?” Hannibal teases.

“I’m resigned to liking you,” Will says, wry.

“It was predestined,” Hannibal murmurs into the softness just under Will’s jaw.

“No. No, that was all you.”

Hannibal smirks. Will smacks him in the face with a wet towel.

“Keep that up and I won’t let you on the bed,” he snarks, but they both know he’s lying.

* * *

In the end, it’s Will who finds him. When he does, Hannibal is lying on the rocky shore, breath raspy, throat on fire from the brine he’d swallowed.

“Hannibal,” Will croaks, and Hannibal wonders if he’s dreaming.

Will looks terrible, but then again, Hannibal must not look much better.

Hannibal thinks that if his imagination had to conjure up an image to torture him, at least he would have liked to see Will in that salmon shirt again, with his curls neatly combed for once. That had been a good day.

He stares dumbly up at the apparition, and wonders if this is heaven, or if it’s hell.

“Hannibal?” it says again.

Even the crinkle between his brows is the same. Hannibal reaches up a hand to smooth it away, and they both gasp when skin touches.

Will grabs hold of his hand, lowering it from his face and to his chest. Hannibal holds his breath, but—it’s there.

Will’s heartbeat. He can feel it.

Will’s smile is crooked and painful, it tugs at the wound on his cheek and makes something twisted out of his classic beauty. Hannibal thinks it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m the one with the hallucination problem, Hannibal. Not you, remember?”

“This is real,” Hannibal breathes.

“Yes,” Will says, and chokes out a wet laugh. “Against all odds, you won, you old bastard.”

“Is that what this was?” Hannibal asks. “A gamble?”

“No better than a coin flip,” Will says.

“I’d say our chances were not quite that of a coin flip.”

“But we’re still here, anyway.”

“Yes,” Hannibal says. “You’re still here.”

He grips Will’s hand harder, groaning as he sits up. He brings his hand to his lips, closing his eyes as he scents the sea off Will’s skin, presses Will’s knuckles to his lips.

Will fights back an eye-roll.

“You done yet?”

He isn’t. Hannibal sits there, both of them shivering, for a long while. He simply holds onto Will, reminding himself over and over again that he’s here, they’re alive, they’re together, Will is here, Will is here and he is never going to let him out of his sight ever again. Will is silent throughout it, simply letting him be.

When he finally sighs, relaxes a bit, and lets go of Will’s hand, Will tugs it back.

“C’mon. We gotta go,” he says, pulling Hannibal to his feet.

“Anywhere,” Hannibal vows. “To the ends of the Earth. Together.”

He squeezes Will’s hand harder. Will looks at him. He doesn't laugh at his brazen, lofty declaration. He just takes in the desperate sheen in Hannibal's eyes, the devotion. 

“Okay,” he says. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on twitter [@nise_kazura](https://twitter.com/nise_kazura)! :>


End file.
